


I'll Be Your Canvas (Make Me Your Masterpiece)

by hmurya



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, clexa au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmurya/pseuds/hmurya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soulmates skin as well. </p><p>NOTE: Any chapter that starts with "I" is from Lexas POV. Any that starts with "You" is Clarkes POV.</p><p>(Based on an AU from tumblr. Link in the notes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Am Your Brand

_What drug am I on?_

That is the thought that crosses your mind when it appears for the first time - an intricate flower pattern on your upper arm. You rub at it but the pattern refuses to disappear. You rub at it over and over. Your arm keeps getting redder - but that _fucking fuck of a mark_ just won’t go.

You are still rubbing it rather furiously when your sisters words make you jump.

“What are you doing?”

When you turn around to glare at her, Anya is leaning against the doorpost, an amusing expression gracing her sharp features.

“Ahhh, no-nothing.” You hastily try to hide the pattern with your sleeve.

Her gaze does not shift and she’s staring at you with her intense eyes. It makes you feel so small and you did not need that right now. You are fretting as it is.

A slow smile spreads across her face as some sort of realization settles.

“It has happened hasn’t it? There is a mark on your hand and you don’t know where it came from.”

You stutter out a yes. _How does she even know this?_

She makes her way towards you and holds your face in her hands. “I am so happy there is someone out there for you.” Her eyes start to water as she places a kiss on your forehead. 

You are even more confused than before. “What are you talking about? What is this, Anya?”

She asks you to follow her into the room and you both sit on your bed.

“You rarely hear about this, because it does not happen to everyone. But this mark,” She runs her fingers over your sleeve, “means that your soulmate is out there.”

You try to hold it in, you really do. But you just burst out laughing. Anya sits there, all still and serious, waiting for your laughs to die down. After about 2 minutes, when your laughs finally start to subside she says “are we done or is there more left?”

You lift a hand as a form of apology and ask her to continue.

She heaves a heavy sigh and continues. “Trust me on this Lexa. You are so much luckier than the rest of us who don’t know. You at least know there is someone out there who will love you, adore you, cherish you - just the way you would feel the same for them.”

The seriousness of her voice sobers you up and you start to realize just how real this is.

“But this doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know. Doesn't make it any less true. No one really knows when it starts happening or what the conditions are.”

“So how will I know who the person is or where they are?”

“You don’t. But if this has happened than you are bound to meet. That’s for sure.” With that Anya get’s up to go.

“Keep your eyes open, kiddo.” She places another kiss on your forehead before leaving.

You sit there, stunned. Still trying to comprehend the meaning of it all.

* * *

The first thing you do is google this absurd phenomena. Oh it exists alright. 

There are forums, subreddits, livejournals, tumblrs, twitter accounts etc discussing the same topic. No one has been able to figure out its origin or learn anything more than what you already know.

You learn one new thing: it’s a one way street. There is a receiver and a sender. And you are the receiver.

_Great. Just great._

Another thing - the receiver CAN send messages but only if they are within a certain distance of the sender. Something like how Bluetooths works.

So you are left with no other choice than to listen to Anya’s advice and keep your eyes open.

You are so not going to enjoy this.


	2. I Find Peace In You

Oh how naive you were to think you would never enjoy this. You probably look out of sorts here - sitting on a garden bench, smiling at the inside of your wrist. You look up, and sure enough there is a student looking rather suspiciously at you.

But you can't be bothered enough to glare them off and miss the chance of seeing another new piece of art appear right on your skin.

So yea, you turn your attention back to your wrist and enjoy the light feeling of pen tracing your skin.

Ok, let's wait a bit and rewind to the time where you thought you won't enjoy this. Just until the art draws itself out.

* * *

Initially you don’t enjoy it. At all.

For the first 4-5 days you spend day and night searching the web for information. You question Anya over and over asking her every sort of question to the point where she gives you her “ask-me-one-more-time-and-I-slap-you” glare.

You do find out that it is one of your cousins that had the same thing happen to them. So you call him up and question him instead.

“LEXA! Stop. Annoying. People.” Anya scolds you as she takes your phone away just as you are about to call Roan again.

“Give me my phone back.”

“Listen to me. Roan can’t tell you anything more than you already know. You have to live this through like everyone else does. One step at a time. And you have got to stop pissing people off. Get a fucking grip and start preparing for university. You have to go back in a week.”

You don’t say anything to acknowledge her words, because frankly – even though she is right, you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she is. Ego and all that. You stretch out your hand, asking for your phone back.

With a needlessly exaggerated sigh and an eye roll, she does hand you your phone before getting back to her work. You don’t call Roan again after that.

One night, as you sit in your bed reading, you feel the little tingling sensation of pen-to-skin again. Mostly it has just been small scribbles and doodles, some random shorthand’s and numbers. But today you can see it’s different. It’s a design.

You put your book down and sit in front of the mirror to see the design unfold on your right upper arm. It wasn’t a very intricate design, but it was beautiful. It took a while for the design to pan out. There were four parts to it, each mirror of its own both vertically and horizontally.

Once you are sure it’s done, you stand in front of the mirror and admire how perfect it looks on your arm.

The next day, you get it tattooed.

You change your habit. Instead of searching for unknown information you start to relish these designs. You find yourself eagerly waiting for a one to start. And every time you feel the tickle you are surprised by your own reaction to it.

You have to find the person. You just have to.

You buy a small diary and call it “Soul mate Chronicles”

You jot down everything that is not a design onto it. And then try to connect some information or figure out the shorthand’s and random sets of information.

You know one thing for certain – the person is as messy as they come and they use their arms and hands as notepads.

And that is how you know you will find them. The world might not make things easy for you, but at least your soul mate will. _Thank god for that!_

 --------------------------------

You see him sitting at the far end of the library, just as you expected. You creep up behind him and smack his head with a roll of papers in your hand.

“Ouch! Is this a way to greet your best friend?” Murphy questions while trying to soothe the pain in his head.

You plop down on the chair opposite to him. “Don’t flatter yourself. You are just someone I hate less than the others.”

“Good to know. Now tell me,“ He closes the book in front of him, “What is this ‘oh em gee’ thing that has happened to you?”

“First of all, I do not say ‘oh em gee’,”

“That was my short translation. Go on.”

“Secondly, I have a soul mate.”

You expect Murphy to laugh out just like you had. Instead all he says is, “Fucking hell. Out of everyone it’s you!?”

You are taken aback by it. “You – you know about his?”

“Yea. Why do you think my parents are so happy with each other in today’s world when everyone around them can’t deal with the word ‘monogamy’”

“Ahan ok. But what the hell did you mean by ‘out of everyone it’s you’?” You are confident you are giving him the worst glare you can.

You are right.

He leans further into the chair. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m offended anyways.”

“Jesus, woman. All I meant was, knowing you and how much you love not talking about tangible feelings and getting into them, I am just a bit surprised it has happened to you.”

“I am no-“

“Don’t even try to argue with that.”

You conceded defeat. He isn’t entirely wrong. “You are a dick.”

“So I have been told. Now tell me more about this person.”

“You know how this works right?”

“Mhmm. But genius, the scribbles probably mean something or give you some kind of information. Don’t they?”

“You would think so. But nothing yet.”

He cocks his head to the side and scrunches his eyes. “You sure?”

“Yes Murphy. I am not blind.”

“But you are obtuse. When it comes to these things especially.”

You are about to start ranting again when he raises his hand. “Ok ok. No more making fun of you. Now give me that book that you have been jotting it all down on.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. _Damn, you get surprised a lot!_

“Girl!!” Is all Murphy says and you can’t help but smile and pull out the book for him.

He reads the pages for a few minutes and declares that there is indeed nothing of use in there. He also states that maybe you are not as obtuse as he thought.

“So that’s it huh?”

“Well. Not really.” You lift up your sleeve to show him the tattoo. “They draw too. And I liked this a lot so got it tattooed.”

“Oh em gee!!! You haven’t even met the person and you are already whipped.” Soon enough he is immersed in bouts of laughter. You throw the roll of paper at him which causes him to laugh even more. His laughs die down to sniggers when the librarian shushes him.

You sit there, waiting very patiently, arms crossed across your chest. It takes him a good five minutes.

“I retract my previous statement. You are obtuse. Should have played more ‘connect the dots’ as a child.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks at you.

“Will you continue or do I have to send an invitation?”

A coy smile appears across his face. “Thought you would never ask.” He clears his throat.

You roll your eyes at his theatrics.

“That design clearly shows that the person is a serious artist.” You pull out your phone and show him the previous designs as affirmation to his observation. “And these abbreviations could be linked to that. So could these numbers. Maybe, and it is a stretch, the person exhibits their art?”

“Do you know how many art galleries are there?”

“Yes I do. But you have all these pics. I can bet you anything one of these designs will somewhat match with something they have worked on. Just take these pictures, upload them on google and let it do the work for you. It’s worth a shot until you can get more information.”

You grab your book and phone and kiss him on the cheek for helping you out. “Sometimes I don’t mind the fact that you are my friend.”

You don’t register Murphy’s reply. You are way too eager to get to your laptop right now.

* * *

And that brings your back to the bench. Since that day (around 2 weeks ago) you have been searching for similar art. You haven’t had any luck, not even with the new one. It doesn’t stop you or dampen your spirits.

You enjoy all these designs, feeling closer to the person with every piece that appears. You have started to decipher their mood from the drawings. When they are angry, the design is all raw and dissimilar. When they are happy, there are just these swirl patterns embedded into the overall frame.

Your favorite though, are the ones drawn in moments of serenity. Because those designs, though not intricate, are calm and pure. They have a form to them that soothe your insides when you see them take shape.

What you don’t like, though, is how much your mood is linked with them. It worries you and at nights you like awake wondering if this person will be good for you or not.


	3. I Look For You In Your Art

_Oh my god_

_Oh my FUCKING GOD_

For the record, none of this is being said out loud because Murphy is sitting right across the room on your bed. And you don’t want to give him something to hold over you. You just know he will run away with it and mock you for the rest of your life.

But back to the situation at hand.

_Oh sweet heavens above_

You can hear your heartbeat drumming in your ears. You had given up all hope and was sure that nothing of use would ever come from this.

But there is a god damn fucking match. You click on “Visit page” link in Google images and it starts to redirect you a page on an Art Gallery website.

As you scroll, you notice bits and pieces of designs from when they had revealed themselves on your skin. You stop at a point around 5 images down. This piece has the current design that is visible on the inside of your wrist.

You scroll further down, your hands shaking as your get nearer to the end. You are so close to knowing who they are. So close you can barely control the shaky breaths.

”What the fuck!?”

Murphy looks up from his book. “What happened?”

“I can’t believe this.” You are glaring at the screen, jaw tight and now hurting. “Either I have the worst luck, or this world just hates me. It’s a conspiracy.” You throw your hands up in the air and hear an _ouch._

You look up to see Murphy holding his nose, eyes watering. You didn’t even notice any movement.

“Sorry.”

He raises a hand, accepting your apology and points to the screen in the way of a question.

You turn your attention back to the screen. “I finally found a design that matched. And I know it’s them because I have seen all these designs.”

You swivel your chair to face him and slightly slump in defeat.

“But it’s anonymous. It’s a fucking anonymous art gallery.” You can feel tears threatening to spill.

Murphy props himself on the table. “Don’t lose heart, Lex. It’s still a good thing.”

“How?” You are playing with the hem of your shirt to distract you from the thoughts of frustration.

“One. Your tattoo. Two. The design on your wrist. Three. The other design on your bicep.”

“Get to the point Murph.”

“You big idiot. Wear a sleeveless shirt when you go to this exhibition. If the artist shows up, they are bound to notice _their_ designs on _your_ skin. And no one is not curious enough to know what the hell that is all about.”

You feel your spirits lift again. “Murph. You are a genius.”

“What would you do without me, you obtuse dork.”

“Shut up.”

“Pizza is on you. You are welcome.” Murphy sets himself back on the bed and you turn your attention to the screen.

You create an event in your calendar before settling down to go over all the art pieces. You know nothing about reading paintings – they are worth the admiration though.

* * *

 

You stand at the bottom of the steps of the gallery. You don’t even know why you are debating not going. It’s not like you know them or they know you. They might not even be there.

But if they are, and they notice – _oh boy. Ohhhh boyyy._ You might not end the night on an entirely sane note. You have been waiting for this for too long (two months for all you people wondering).

You nod to yourself, walk through the doors and look around for the paintings.

The gallery has different rooms and each room is dedicated to one single artist. You find the room you are looking for. It’s right in the end –

_\- and it’s empty_

You walk inside nonetheless. There are little benches placed in front of each piece of art, so you place yourself in front of the one that matches with the inside of your wrist. You sit there for a good 10 minutes or so and when no one walks in, you decide to venture into other rooms and keep checking on this one regularly.

One room in particular catches your interest. The paintings look something made during the time of the Romans. It’s all women, horses and soldiers. But in those paintings are these small but definite touches of the modern world.

You walk around the room, admiring each painting. There is a couple standing in front of one of the paintings. You don’t want to stand in their personal space so you sit down on the bench.

The girl turns around to probably see who is there. She smiles at you and you smile back. But she doesn’t turn back.

“Staring is rude.”

The girl just gives a lopsided smile.

“Sorry. I was just admiring your tattoo. It’s beautiful.”

You run your fingers over your bicep. “Thank you.”

“May I know where you got it from? I mean the designer.”

“Oh erm.” _Dang. What do I say?_ “A friend did it for me.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t sound very convinced. “And what about the one on the other arm?”

“Oh this. Nah. This is just sharpie.”

The girl nods. Her boyfriend asks her if she’s ready to go and with a smile your way, she exits the room.

* * *

 

You keep to your schedule of regularly checking the room and whenever someone is there, you walk in and make it a point to stand close to them. Close enough for them to notice your tattoo.

But no one mentions anything.

You have this feeling pricking at the back of your neck - as if someone is constantly watching you. But whenever you turn around there is no one. Everyone is immersed in their own world.

It is around 11PM and you are so close to just losing it. It’s a mixture of not having dinner, free booze and your sad pathetic love life.

You hit the room one last time. There is just one person there. A girl.

You repeat the process and lo and behold, she DOES notice you.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You croak. Your palms are sweating like crazy. This could really be it.

You don’t want to look like a creep so you turn your attention back to the painting.

“Nice tattoo.”

“Thanks.”

“You designed it?”

You laugh. “Hell no. I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler. Erm -my soul mate did it.”

The girl gives you a full faced smile. “That’s lovely.” You nod. “And you are lucky.”

“How so?” And you can practically hear her say _because you finally get to meet your soul mate._ And then she kisses you.

“Because my soul mate couldn’t draw for shit.” She laughs again.

Your face goes blank, and you guess its pretty damn obvious because the girl asks you if you are OK.

“Yea. I am good. It was nice talking to you.” You literally power-walk out of the room and out of the gallery. You need fresh air.

You plop down on the gallery steps, cross your arms over your knees and bury your face in it.

“You alright kid?”

You look up. It’s the girl with the boyfriend from that other room.

“Yea. And I am not a kid.”

“OK, not a kid. Want one?” She offers a lit cigarette to you.

“No.” You bury you head back inside before she can say something else.

You can still feel her presence there. Later you will probably chalk it down to your drunk state, but right now it is worth sounding like a maniac.

“I lied.”

She cocks a brow.

“About the tattoo. My friend didn’t do it. It was my soul mate.”

“Your – soul mate?” She is clearly too amused by this.

You stand up and lean against the railing.

“Yea. Soul mate. And so are these, even though they are not tattoos” You point at every piece of design visible on your arms.

“I – what?”

“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Did to me too initially. But it’s true. Whenever my soul mate draws something on their body, it ends up in the exact same spot on mine and doesn’t go until theirs does. And that is why I am here, looking for that person. Because god damn it just had to be a one way street. Like, I mean, seriously!?”

The girl is full on smiling now, a good chunk of the 32 teeth visible (at least you think she has 32 teeth, not considering she ever got braces or anything). Sorry. Detour. Drunk.

“What’s your name?”

“Lexa.”

“Hi Lexa.” She takes a puff of her cigarette. “I’m Clarke.”


	4. You Are The Storm I Didn't Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter if from Clarke's POV. A few from here on out will be in her POV.
> 
> You can get that from the chapter title. Any chapter that starts with "I" is from Lexas POV. Any that starts with "You" is Clarkes POV.

“That’s bullshit.”

You are sitting on the sofa, leg’s tucked under you. You are rubbing your temple, unable to really grasp the reality of the situation.

“Will you stop for a second and think of this rationally?”

You jerk your head up, “Rationally? Are you fucking serious, Bellamy? There is nothing, NOTHING, rational around this.”

He seems deeply and personally offended by your words. “Just because it doesn’t fit your definition of reality, doesn’t mean it’s not real. It happens, it HAS happened. So stop trying to make a myth out of it.”

“Just stop forcing this on me. I need you to stop.”

“No I won’t. Honestly speaking, I am done with you wallowing in pity and despair. He’s gone. It has been 2 years. Stop pretending like it happened yesterday.”

“Soul mates ARE a myth.”

“I said stop.” His voice is so calm and forceful, that it makes you forget your next words. He probably notices the effect his tone had, because moves to kneel in front of you.

“Give it a shot.” He places a tender hand on your knee. “See how it plays out. You don’t have to stick around.”

You smile down at him. “See that’s the thing Bellamy. This is not some little dating expedition. Not to her at least. She somehow found me with the abstract doodles. She already sees us as a couple, in a weird sense I guess. And we are not going to test waters if we start something. It’s a straight dive. This phenomenon or whatever, it comes loaded with baggage that you didn’t know had the right to exist.”

You purse your lips and stare into the nothing behind Bellamy. “I just – I can’t put her through this. I can’t put myself through this.” You give Bellamy a weak smile. “Do you understand?”

He nods and shifts so that he is sitting on the floor now, arms wrapped around his knees. “If I give you a solution,” He raises his hand to stop the protest that is about to make it to your lips, “Just listen first. If I do, then can you promise me you will think over it and not dismiss it right there and then?”

You just nod, because you know if you open your mouth, a _yes_ will sure as shit not be the word you utter.

“Ok. She doesn’t know who you are. Well not in the sense she wants to know. So befriend her.” You try to protest again but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. “This is going to be so hard.” He says to himself.

Taking a deep breath, he continues, “Ok, let’s not befriend her. Not until you are comfortable enough. Figure her out. You know her name, and there can’t be many Lexa Woods in the city. So find her, stalk her if you have to,” you raise a single brow at that and he only smiles mischievously, “and see if she catches your interest. And then if befriend her.”

He flashes you his best smile, as if he has laid down the most genius idea in front of you.

“That is a fucking genius idea!”

“Thank you.”

“No seriously. Its good. It makes sense. Theoretically at least.”

A pat on your back and he is at his laptop at once. “Erm what are you doing?”

“Finding Lexa Woods ofcourse.” You jump off the sofa and pry the laptop away from his hands.

“No! I do this alone. Me, myself, I, Clarke Griffin. I need to do this myself and I don’t want you asking for updates and how far it has progressed. I do this at my own pace.”

He nods rather sagely. “Fair enough. But it’s a plan in motions, yes?”

“Yes. It’s a plan in motion. Now can we go get some lunch? I am starving.”

* * *

 

Google’s page is open with the words “Lexa Woods” glaring at you. It has been this way for 2 hours. All you have to do is press enter. You, though, have done everything but. Washed the dishes, made your bed, took a quick shower - to name a few.

Just as you finally decide to give in, there is a knock on your door.

 _Is this some sort of a sign from the universe?_ You roll your eyes at your own thought process. Another knock.

“Coming.”

You close Google because you are 100% sure it is a sign from the universe and you should never mess with it.

You open the door.

A knot forms in your throat.

“Hi. I’m Lexa Woods.”

_Well fuck._


	5. You Swept Me Off My Feet (Yet Here I Am, Fallen)

“What?”

“What?”

She takes a step back from the door. “Did I, I didn’t even do anything!”

That’s when it hits you. “Shit did I say that out loud?”

Her eyes are wide with … fear, unease? You can’t really put a finger to it, because you are so flustered yourself.

“I – yea. Yea you kind of did. Yea listen, I am sorry. I will just go.” She points her thumb in the general direction of the elevator.

You can’t really form any words to tell her not to. The shock hasn’t entirely left your mind. When you don’t reply she gives you a stiff smile and starts to turn around.

It jolts you into action and you grab at her wrist. She doesn’t panic or pull away. Just looks at you worried.

You realize what you have done and let go of her.

You rub your face. “I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise.”

“I’m sorry.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“No please. I am sorry. Didn’t make the best first impression.”

“Not the first.”

“Right, the gallery.”

She smiles at you and you think, yea you could love that.

“Listen this may sound stupid or weird. Probably both. I just had to meet you again.”

“I’m sorry?”

She takes a deep breath, purses her lips and looks at you with furrowed brows. In her features, you can see the words formulate.

“I don’t know. I felt this instant connection with you. I thought it was the alcohol before, but when I woke up the next morning the feeling still lingered. And I knew I just had to meet you again. If only once.”

“What about your soulmate?”

“Oh this?” She says running two fingers over the doodle. You suddenly find yourself wanting to do the same. “I don’t know, Clarke.” The way your name falls off her tongue makes your insides churn. You almost ask her to say your name again. You close your eyes and scold yourself. Thankfully she doesn’t notice your internal conflict. She seems to have wandered off into another dimension.

“Come inside.” It’s almost a whisper. You find it ridiculous how the knowledge of having a soulmate and that soulmate standing in front of you renders you so obsolete. You try to figure out if it’s the girl that is doing this to you, or the idea of what lies behind her.

She follows you into the house. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water, please.”

You disappear into the kitchen. When you return with a glass of water, she has already placed herself on a sofa, though she looks far from comfortable.

You hand her the glass and place yourself on the sofa right opposite to hers. She takes two small sips, places the glass on her knees, cradling it.

She doesn’t say anything after, nor do you push her. She just stares into the glass as if it will give her the answer to all her questions.

You take this opportunity to look at her more closely. The dim light of the gallery and your mild drunken state did not give you the opportunity to learn her face. Beauty like hers in rare to come recently. People seem to have lost the grace that the features once used to carry. She reminds of you purer times. The rawness of her beauty is something you feel you will never get used to, no matter how many times you lay your eyes on her.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” You are so lost in her that your hardly catch the words.

“Can’t say I believe in a lot. Not much of a believer, me.”

She raises her head to look at you. “Why?”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

You smile at her. She rolls her eyes. “20.”

“I have 4 years on you. Trust me when I say this, 4 years can do a lot to you.”

“Enough to not make you believe in anything.”

“Sometimes.”

“Why don’t you believe?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You don’t give a lot of answers.”

You laugh at this. She, though, just smiles and you can swear it’s the purest thing you have seen in your life.

“Not like you have answered mine. What about your soulmate?”

She shrugs. “I want to find them.” You notice how she uses the word them and not him.

“But …?”

She shrugs again. “But I am sitting here, because I have not been able to forget the hoarseness of your voice or the blue of your eyes.”

She says this so nonchalantly that it knocks the wind out of you.

“Look I don’t know what this soulmate deal is, or if I will ever meet them. Just because I have a soulmate doesn’t mean that I will be happy or it will make everything alright. Nothing ever guarantees that really. I am not trying to start anything here. And it was the stupidest idea to come here. But it’s been 4 days, and your face, it’s plastered into my mind. And I was afraid, I was scared I was forgetting it so here I am.” She breaks for a breath.  “And please don’t ask me how I found you.”

“Can you do me a favour?”

“Anything, Clarke.” There it was again. Your name. On her tongue. No you can’t let this happen.

“Forget about me, and don’t come back here.”

The hurt on her face is so evident that you want to punish yourself for it.

It disappears as soon as it had come, a dead expression replacing it. Getting up, she places the glass on the table and with a curt nod and a rather hushed _whatever you want_ she heads for the door.

You hear the door knob turn but the door doesn’t open for a while. She probably expects you to stop her.

Your eyes are shut tight, arms wrapped around a cushion.

The door opens and closes. You release a breath that you had been holding for too long.

_Bellamy is going to be so pissed at me._


	6. You Could Be My Light (But I Choose Darkness)

_“Finn, stop. Please just stop.”_

_“There is no point in stopping. We are done.” Your eyes are flooded; you can taste your mascara. It came out of nowhere. One minute the two of you were having dinner and the next, he is storming out, bags packed._

_You hadn’t even noticed that he had packed his bags. You were so caught up in your work, you hadn’t noticed._

_Fool._

_“You can’t leave. YOU CAN’T LEAVE.” You drop to the floor, face in your hands. “Please. Just please.”_

_He doesn’t kneel down, doesn’t even bother to move a muscle._

_“It’s too late to beg.”_

_You look up at him. All you see is a blurred vision of the man that once used to love you._

_That you still love._

_“We are soulmates.”_

_“That’s bullshit. And you know it too.”_

_“Finn please.” You wrap your hand around his ankles. He jerks his leg back, pulling you along with him. You let go when you feel a pain shoot up your arm. “We are soulmates.”_

_“Get it through your head, Clarke. You might think of me as your soulmate, but I don’t consider you as mine. And all this drawing bullshit, it’s all that it is – bull. Shit.”_

_You look up at him. There is no remorse on his face, no pain in his eyes. When did you lose him? How did he get away from you._

_“Please.”_

_“I pity you.” And he walks away._

* * *

 

You haven’t told Bellamy yet.

You don’t really think you have the courage to. He will give you a whole long lecture on how you were born to self-sabotage and talk to you in a condescending tone. You will get angry and it will end in him telling you, again, how you can’t handle the good things in your life.

It’s hard, is what he doesn’t get. When you so openly and vulnerably hand yourself over to someone, and they leave you shattered, pieces scattered all over. It’s hard to pick up from that.

You still find yourself gathering up the pieces from 2 years ago. Moments come rushing to you. In a blink of an eye, you see the world change ever so slightly. You catch yourself when you realize the world hasn’t changed at all, you have just stumbled over one of the broken pieces.

And then you start to put it back again. It takes all your effort, like fitting a square into a circle.

So really, how can you hand yourself to someone like that again?

Fool me twice, shame on me.

Here is the other thing though. You are about as sure as your existence that the world is fucking with you. Two soulmates in one life? That’s not how it works. It you look at the definition of soulmate, there is nothing that suggests that you can’t have more than one. It doesn’t add up though. Everyone you have known, have had one. And they have been happy and content.

That’s what fucks you up the most. You didn’t end up happy with your soulmate - _first_ soulmate. And now you have a second. Who’s to say it won’t end up the same way?

There is something inside you, that beckons you, sometimes even screams at you. _Try it, taste it, feel it_ the voice says. Sometimes, you almost comply.

The first time it happened, you opened up the laptop to search for her. Your fingers moved, as if in a trance. The scene felt all too familiar. Your mind ventured back to day when you had almost hit enter.

You sat there, jaw stiff, fingers not moving.

_Wake up. Stop._ And so you did.

You searched your bedroom shelves right after for the book. Grabbed a pen and packet of sticky notes. You browsed through the pages, vaguely remembering the location of the quote you so desperately needed.

When you found it, you scribbled it on the sticky note. You stuck the note on your laptop. Then you scribbled another, then another, then another until you had a good enough amount.

You stuck them at different locations in your house so that at no point will they be out of your sight. Ever since then, whenever you felt the pull to reach out and find one Lexa Woods, you only had to find a sticky note.

It didn’t make you feel any better, but it was better than nothing. It was definitely better than the alternative.

Today, you had bumped into her at the mall. She didn’t notice you because you had disappeared as soon as you realized who she was. You bolted like the coward you are, leaving her to gather her fallen things alone.

You pushed through the crowd, trying to remember the quote. But it wouldn’t come to you.

You rushed back home, forgetting why you had been in the mall in the first place.

And that is how you ended up here, a week after that encounter. Glaring at the sticky note.

> _Maybe, no matter how much you loved them, they could slip through your fingers like water, and there was nothing you could do about it._

Fuck you Cassandra Clare. Fuck you and your books.


	7. I Know I Shouldn't (But You Make Me Want To)

“Get up, we are going out.”

“Go away Murph.”

You hear something bump against the door, probably Murphys forehead (you hope so). “Come on, Lex. It’s been two weeks.”

You run your hands over your face in frustration. You hate having friends. Friend. Just one. And he’s outside, being just that. You find the will to get up.

Opening the door, you lean against the doorframe, a clear indication that he isn’t welcomed in right now.

“Jesus. You look awful.”

“What do you want Murphy?” A hand still on the door knob, itching to close it.

“For you to be happy.”

“Don’t be sappy and cut the crap.”

You see hurt in his eyes, like you have just offended him. You think, _maybe I have._

A slight purse of the lips, a subtle nod, a hand on your cheek (you think of brushing it away). He presses his lips to your forehead and you close your eyes. It feels, it just feels so good. God, when did you become so **needy.**

“I’m here if you need me.” He walks away without looking back. Your eyes sting with unshed tears. You want him here, but your stupid ego doesn’t allow it. You close the door and slump against the door.

You think back to the day you got rejected by Cl- _ugh._ Just saying her name hurts. To the day when you got rejected. It’s not like you had known her for years, in fact it was a grand total of 22 minutes. And yet that one sentence, it crushed you.

You had walked along the pier after leaving her apartment. That sentence constantly repeating over and over in your mind. As you sat on the bench, your fingers stroking the design on your wrist, you wondered why you are at this point. You have a soulmate. A SOULMATE. And here you are, chasing a hope.

Just when things were getting under control, you had bumped into her at the mall. She bolted, so fast, you didn’t get the time to comprehend what had happened.

“Anya, please pick up my things I’ll be back.” You ran in the same direction, without so much as looking back. She was leaning against the malls wall, a cigarette dangling in between her fingers, her breathing laboured.

The slouching, defeated figure compelled you. _God you are weak._ It didn’t matter. You just wanted to see that face again.

Your advances came to a halt as you were turned around rather abruptly. You jerked away, anger flaring up inside you.

“What the hell, Anya?’

“What the hell yourself. What was that?”

You turned around and she was gone. Tears threatened to spill, one even did. You wiped away at it.

“I’m going back.”

“Lexa.”                    

“Fuck off, Anya.” She didn’t follow you, for which you were ever grateful.

Now two weeks later, slumped on the floor, your fingers run over the wrist again. But there is no design. There hasn’t been one for a while, and you find yourself missing it. But you also miss those blue eyes, they constantly creep up on you, in your dreams, your thoughts, in someone else’s face.

You hate conflicts.

* * *

 

“Lexa, is everything ok?”

You have been quietly sobbing over the phone for the past 2 minutes. This is the third time Anya has asked that question. “Clearly, no.”

You can feel Anya rolling her eyes through the phone. But she doesn’t say anything snarky. “Talk to me.”

“Can we meet?”

“Oh god. You are actually asking for a meet up. Something must be really wrong.”

_Anya,_ you whisper, an unspoken please stuck to the end of the that.

“You know you don’t have to ask, kid.”

You wipe the snot and tears off and tell her you will be there in an hour.

* * *

 

You are lying on Anyas sofa, her patiently sitting on the love seat waiting for you to say something.

“Is it possible to have more than one soul mate?”

She stumbles through her words. Finally, “Maybe. I mean yea. It seems plausible.”

You take a deep breath.

“I think I’m in love.”

“With your soulmate?”

“No. Not exactly.” The silence stretches.

“Care to elaborate?”

So you tell her how you found the gallery and met Clarke. How she said those things, and what happened at the mall that day.

“So you are in love with Clarke?”

“Potentionally.”

“Well since we are talking about potential, should we also talk statistics and probabilities?”

You turn to look at her, disbelief on your face. She’s being all smiley though.

“Yea, that would help.”

She hits you with a cushion. “What’s the problem?”

“I have a soulmate.”

“Ok. I am going to repeat my question. What’s the problem?”

You get up. “Anya. I have a SOUL. MATE. S. O. U. L. Mate.”

“Right so you are telling me an idea of a person is better than an **actual** person?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Course you don’t. Lex, your soulmate is a myth right now. And if you really think of it, what does soulmate mean? The word doesn’t bound you to one person, it doesn’t say ‘well this one is it.’”

“But the mark.”

“Fuck the mark.” You are taken aback, because Anya isn’t one to curse. “Look Lexa, there are a lot of ways to interpret this ok. Maybe the mark is just, oh I don’t know, a guideline. And then it is upto you to decide if you can live with that person or not. Maybe, when you decide you can’t the marks don’t come up anymore.”

“What marks?” Your mom questions as she walks in from the front door.

You and Anya exchange a look, unsure whether your mother knows about all this or not.

“Soul mate mark.” Anya replies, words dripping with caution.

“Oh. And who has the mark?”

“Me.” “Lexa.”

Her mom crosses the room in 3 strides and hugs her. “Mom what the hell?”

She releases the death grip on you, wiping away tears. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just so happy. I have always been worried you would be alone but now –“

You raise your hands in frustration. “Why does everyone think I will end up alone?”

“Well you are doing a bang on job of it right now, so who’s to say we are wrong?”

“Care to fill me in?”

And so they do. This time, Anya repeats the story and tells her theory.

“Well it’s not a theory.” You both don’t say a thing. She continues. “Some people are known to have more than one soul mate mark. More than even two sometimes. It’s nothing new. Like Anya said, it’s just a nudge in a direction, the rest is upto you.”

“And how exactly do you know this?”

“I am a psychiatrist, honey. I hear things.”

“So you are saying –“

“I am saying that the mark doesn't guarantee a forever. Go after Clarke. If that is what your heart wants, then go after her. ”

“She doesn’t want me though.” Your voice is soft and small, and you see your mothers’ expression break.

“I didn’t raise a daughter who would give up this easily. Ever considered why she said those things. You won’t know until you ask.”

* * *

 

And that is how you end up at Arkadia Hospital. You wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans as you make your way to the reception.

“Erm, hi. Does Dr. Griffin work here? Clarke Griffin.”

“Lexa?” You turn around to see a girl staring at you with a wide grin.

You look at her skeptically. “Lexa?”  She asks again.

A nod is all she gets.

She stretches her hand for a shake. “I’m Octavia. Clarkes friend.”

Your eyes flit between her face and the outstretched hand.

“One question, how the fuck do you know my name?”

A 100 watt smile is flashed your way as you are dragged away from the reception to somewhere inside the hospital.

“Oh this is going to be so, so great.” The girl, Octavia, says, vibrating with joy and laughter.

You are a mixture of scared and happy, but your mom didn’t raise a coward so you let her drag you.

_For once, can things just be simple._

 


	8. I Finally Found A Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Any chapter that starts with "I" is from Lexas POV. Any that starts with "You" is Clarkes POV.

You are pushed into a room; having seen enough medical shows you recognize it being an on-call room. The door closes behind you and you hear the latch.

“What the hell? Why – why did you lock the door?”

“Chill, I’m not going to kill you.”

You cross your arms and glare down at the girl. To your surprise, she doesn’t back down, hitting you with her best glare in return. After a couple of seconds of some intense stare down you back away, a sigh escaping your lips.

“Can I at least know why I was dragged into this room?”

“Because I don’t want Clarke to see that you are here.” It seems that whatever look you are giving her, she’s not content with your reaction, so she asks you to sit down. After a few moments of hesitation you comply and take a seat on the bed behind you. The girl – Octavia – sits down on the bed adjacent to yours. She takes a deep breath and then breaks out into a word vomit.

“Clarke and I have been friends for very, very long – we grew up together. We made a pact a long time ago that we would not interfere in each other’s love life after, well, after we almost screwed it over trying to do just that. But that’s a story for another time, hopefully.  A few years ago Clarkes boyfriend left her. They had been together for a while; they were supposed to be soul mates.”

You flinch at the word. Octavia seems to notice. She places a hand on your knee, giving it a light squeeze. “There is nothing wrong with having soul mates, ok?” You nod weakly, realizing that Clarke seems to have told her friend everything. She pulls her hand away and continues with her story. “So, Finn just walking out on Clarke completely broke her. It’s not her fault, it was never her fault. Residency is hard. You don’t get time for yourself let alone anyone else. Unfortunately he didn’t understand it. He was too needy, too clingy. Clarke tried her best to give as much of her time to him, god knows she tried. But I think Finn just wanted an excuse to leave and nothing Clarke could have done would have changed his mind.”

“Does she still love him?” You hate how desperate, how weak you sound.

Octavia considers your question for a moment. “No, but she’s still broken. She does not like to admit it, but she is. I can find her piecing back things together from time to time. Absolutely breaks my heart. I just want to find Finn and slice him into pieces.” Octavia makes this shooing gesture with her hand. “Sorry, going off tangent here. So no, she’s not still in love with him. Problem is she can’t trust herself to fall in love again, just to avoid a possible heartbreak again. Which is absolutely stupid and dumb; I mean isn’t that what life is all about. Fall down, get back up and repeat until you don’t fall at all.”

Octavia looks at you after completing her ramble, eyes asking for some form of input. “I don’t know what to say.”

She sighs as her shoulders slump. “Tell me why you are here.”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Octavia gives you a quit-your-bullshit look. “Fine. You know why I am here. I know Clarke told me to stay away. It’s impossible for me to. Physically hurts me, even mentally at times. I want to convince her to give this a shot, soul mates be damned.” You huff in frustration. “I just want her to understand.”

“Good. Now if you are wondering why I told you that story, it’s to help you partially understand her train of thought. You made an equally big impact on her as she made on you. I should know - she hasn’t been able to shut up about your eyes.” You smile. You find it a little weird how both of you can’t seem to forget each other’s eyes. If that doesn’t scream soul mates to you, then you don’t know what else ever will.

“Alright hot stuff; please stop smiling like a weirdo. We are going to have to tread the waters very carefully, ease Clarke into the whole consideration thing.”

You nod. “It certainly helps that you answered the question I came here to ask.” Octavia is giving you a puzzled look. “I came here to ask Clarke why she is so reluctant about this. And now that I have the answer, and not by Clarke, I don’t know what to do next.”

“Oh that, don’t worry about it. I will help you out with this. But you need to see this through. No one can guarantee what will happen in the future, but for now, you _have_ to see this through. And if you are not ready to, I suggest you leave and never come back. Because let me make one thing very, very clear –“ Your shoulders tense at those words. “- Clarke is a stubborn hoe. Like wow, so stubborn.”

_Good god, why is this woman so dramatic?_

“She will push away, she will pretend like she doesn’t want it, she will even try to anger you so you yourself can walk away, but you have to brave it all. Every single extra, dramatic thing Clarke does, you have to brave it all. Deal?”

“Just one question though.” Octavia nods. “Are all doctors this theatrical or is it just the two of you?”

Octavia lightly smacks your knee. “Get used to it if you are here to stay. We are very superfluous.”

You laugh - a genuine laugh in what feels like a very long time. “Superfluous. Who even says that?”

Octavia’s smile matches yours. She points two thumbs at herself and says ‘ _this bitch’._

“Come on hot stuff, give me your digits and get the hell out of this hospital. I will work through it all and contact you as soon Clarke stops being a dick and starts being a reasonable, adult human.”

You get up, Octavia follows suit. When you move to hug her, she engulfs you into her arms. It’s the most reassuring thing you have felt in years. You whisper a thank you into her hair. She just squeezes you harder.

 

* * *

 

That night when you go to bed, lightness surrounds your senses. You feel relaxed.

When you wake up and there is no message or call from Octavia the heaviness starts to find its home again.

Every day that passes and there is no contact from Octavia, the weight gets heavier.

Two weeks, three days, 19 hours, 42 minutes _(but who’s counting right?)_ later your phone buzzes at 3am in the morning.

 **Octavia:** Operation Nimrod is a go

 _‘Nimrod?’_ You type back when you read the message in the morning.

Her reply in instant, _‘cause you are both fucking morons.’_  

**Author's Note:**

> Link to tumblr post: http://let-gavin-free.tumblr.com/post/117673589548


End file.
